The Hard Part
by chamiltey
Summary: AU. Following the events of "Knockout," Richard Castle is faced with a choice that he knows could cost him everything. Sorry for the delay in updates. First fanfic, so no promises about quality.  And I don't own Castle, but you knew that already.
1. Reflections

Richard Castle looked pensively through the glass that separated his Manhattan penthouse from the sights and sounds of the naked city outside. A soft and steady rain had descended upon the town, and the blurring of the lights below transformed New York into a vast, spectral kaleidoscope of color. The sound of the raindrops on the glass reminded him of the tapping of fingers on keys, a sound that brought with it both the warm comfort of familiarity and a harsh, gut-wrenching cloud of anxiety; he had already decided what he had to do, but nature had deemed it appropriate to send one last reminder of what once was and what could have been, one last hurdle to clear before the end.

It would have been enough to break his heart, were his heart not already shattered.

Castle closed his eyes against the rush of emotion that threatened to weaken his resolve and breathed deeply, as if he could summon the strength he needed to follow his chosen course from the air around him. If such a thing were possible, he would need it all for what had to be done.

He had hoped that things would be different, this time. He shuddered as images from that day—the day when everything changed—flashed through his mind like a slideshow from a nightmare: the flag draped over the mahogany coffin that held the mortal remains of his friend; the mourners gathered in a sea of black, their faces twisted by shock and grief; the uniformed officers lining the path to the resting place, their steady gaze and ceremonial posture providing a sense of grounding in a world that felt as though it was spinning out of control; and Beckett, all dressed in blue, at war with herself as she took the podium to eulogize her captain. He knew the battle she was fighting at that moment, knew that her duty as ranking officer and as friend provided her with a place to hide from the guilt and loss she was really feeling. He had wished for the opportunity to save her, to gather her in his arms and be her safe place, but he knew her too well to pursue it. She would have run from him—from herself—so far and fast that he would be left clinging only to a fading memory, a fleeting shadow of the woman who had been his muse, friend, and partner. So he watched as she wrestled, listened as she buried her emotions deeper and deeper beneath the poetic farewell she had prepared for the man who had stood behind, beside, and in front of her throughout her entire career, and he wept—not merely for himself, nor for the captain's family, but for the woman he lo—

The woman he loved. He had known the truth of it, long before his mind was able to articulate it. He struggled still to put voice to it, though to be fair, the perfect opportunity had never presented itself. No, his mother was right—he wasn't good with words when it counted, so he'd drawn Kate a map, instead—a map where grand gestures served as a legend and where the value of the treasure itself was in doubt, having been plundered by others before her.

But if she'd been able to decipher his emotional cartography, she'd given no indication of it—so he loved her as he could, and at that moment, loving her meant standing beside her on a dais of flowers and mourning, ever vigilant, should she need him for other things. She'd spoken eloquently of finding a place to take one's stand, and being lucky enough to find someone to stand alongside her. She'd glanced at him then, catching him in a quiet moment of reflection, and he returned her gaze in a kind of acknowledgment, as if to say, "Yes, Kate. I will stand with you. Always."

Castle turned away from her only because a glint of sunlight had flashed across his field of vision. It was subtle, small—it could have been a reflection from a watch or the screen of someone's cell phone, perhaps. It wasn't until the second flash that he even entertained the thought that it could be something else, something more sinister—and by the time he'd decided to act, it was already too late. The air around him had exploded with the sound of thunder, which was odd, because the sky was as clear and blue as the waters of the Caribbean. He knew even as his body made contact with hers that the sound he'd heard was not thunder at all—it was a gunshot. Intertwined, their two bodies collided with soil, and for a brief moment, Castle allowed himself to think—to hope—that the would-be assassin had missed, that he'd been able to protect her, to save her. But as he pulled himself up, he'd seen the crimson stain spreading across her dress blues and her face wearing a look of sorrow and shock, and he'd known then that the woman he loved was now bleeding, maybe even dying, in his arms. And in that moment, his voice had found the strength to speak what he'd been feeling for so long:

"Kate—I love you. I love you, Kate."

She looked into his eyes for one brief moment, and for Castle, that moment contained a lifetime of emotions—love, joy, worry, dread. And when her eyes closed, Castle could almost hear the gates of his own life slamming shut, their chains rattling out a dirge of fear and pain that echoed in the caverns of his soul. He'd held her then, held her as though he were her anchor to this world, as if he could tie her to the earth by sheer force of will and the weight of his own body, and when the paramedics finally arrived, they'd found him still clutching tightly to her wounded form. He still remembered feeling her slip away from him as the medics pried him off, and though he was unable to speak, he was screaming inside: _Kate! Please stay with me! Don't leave me! I love you! I love—_

Castle shuddered as he departed his memory world, having been prodded back to reality by the chirping of his cell phone. He knew it was Beckett, knew it even before he crossed the room to answer the call, just like he knew what he had to do. Knowing, however, didn't make it easier. Castle sighed deeply. _Now comes the hard part_, he thought, and picked up the phone.

To be continued!


	2. Resolved

"Good evening, Detective. How are things down at the 12th?" Castle said, wincing a bit at both the abundance of formality and the lack of subtlety in his greeting. _What's wrong with me? _He wondered, shaking his head slightly at the thought.

"Hey, Castle," Beckett said, with a bewildered tone, "Things are about the same as usual—Gates hasn't cleared me for the field, so I'm still stuck behind this godforsaken desk doing paperwork. Weren't you supposed to drop by today?"

"Oh, I had—other things to which I had to attend," Castle said, dispassionately.

The statement was true enough, though it left a few things unspoken, not the least of which was his disdain for one Captain Victoria "Iron" Gates. It was Gates' "by the book" approach to police work that had been the impetus for Castle's greatly diminished presence at the station of late. He still remembered the smug, self-satisfied sneer on her face when she'd said, "Mr. Castle, if you want to work in _my_ precinct, I suggest you attend the academy and earn your stripes. Otherwise, I'll thank you to keep your rich boy entitlement mentality and your oversized ego away from my detectives and out of my sight." She'd reconsidered after a brief conversation with the mayor (instigated by Castle himself, of course), but refused to allow him full access; instead, Castle was allowed only two days a week as a consultant in the precinct. It was just as well; with Beckett confined to a desk, there wasn't much for him to do there, anyway—except watch her begin to come unglued as she pored over the facts of her mother's case time and again, despite all his attempts to redirect her focus.

It was a familiar scene that had been playing far too often these days.

"Castle? You there?" The sharp, inquisitive tone in Beckett's voice jarred him from his thoughts, and he realized that he hadn't heard anything she'd said in the last few minutes.

"Yeah—I'm sorry, yeah." He replied, flatly. "What were you saying?"

"Well, I asked if you were supposed to drop by today. You gave some lame excuse about having 'other things to attend to.' And I said, 'I see. _Star Wars_ marathon?' Then you went all "phone creeper" on me."

Castle smiled, in spite of himself. It was so _easy_, talking with her like this. As if nothing had happened, as if the last few months were just a wisp of a dream that arose like a summer storm and disappeared just as quickly.

But they weren't a dream. They were very, very real. And Castle felt like Atlas, carrying the weight of those months squarely between his own aching shoulders.

Still-even a man on a mission could permit himself a brief_ moment _of levity, couldn't he?

His smile widening, Castle responded, "Joke all you like, Detective. But we both know that if there were a _Star Wars _marathon on, you wouldn't be at the precinct today. You'd be cuddled up on your sofa with a bowl of popcorn and sporting a lovely pair of Yoda slippers."

"I'm not the one with an authentic Han Solo ensemble still hanging in my closet," Beckett teased, slyly.

"Hey, that was for Halloween, and you know it. Besides, I only wore it once."

"Really? Because I seem to remember a cold January evening when I had stopped by to drop off a recommendation for Alexis, and you—"

"Ohhh-kay, ok. You got me," he conceded, stifling a chuckle, "just remember—you can be Princess Leia to my Han Solo anytime you want. I think I can still get Leia's "slave" costume shipped overnight—"

"Clock's ticking, Castle," Beckett replied, with the slight lilt to her voice that was always present when she was smiling, "and I still have work to do. You called earlier; did you need something?"

Castle felt his chest tighten as reality burst upon him again. "Yes, actually. I nee—We need to talk. Will you be home later?"

His question was met with a momentary pause that felt as if it stretched into eternity. The writer in Castle knew that a pause like that was laden with subtext, though at the moment, he was unable precisely to name what that subtext was.

It was always so with Kate Beckett.

"Castle, I still have a lot of paperwork to do before I can leave, so it's gonna be a late night here. Can't you just say whatever it is you need to say over the phone?" She sounded nervous, and her voice had a slightly tremulous quality about it. Castle wondered if his was the same.

"Not this time, Kate. "

Beckett sighed and said, "Fine. Ok, I _think_ I can get out of here by 10:00, which will put me back at my place at 10:30. Can you meet me there at 11:00?"

"I'll see you then," Castle said, "'Night, Kate."

"'Night. And Castle?"

"Yes?" he said hesitantly, not quite sure what to expect.

"May the force be with you."

Castle smiled slightly, and lowered his phone, glancing at the screen just in time to see Kate Beckett's picture ever so briefly before it disappeared into blackness. _How apropos, _he thought, and grimaced as he slid the phone back into the pocket of his jeans. His eyes moved to his desk, upon which he had placed the large mailing envelope that bore his name and address, which he had taken from his safe earlier. He brushed his fingers lightly across its rough surface. Everything was there, neatly packed and organized, just as it was on the day he had first received it-save for a single sheet of paper that read, simply:

Castle—

I'm sending this to you because I know that you care about Kate as much as I

do. You're a good man, Castle. I know you'll do the right thing. Take care of her.

Captain Roy Montgomery

_It's not too late, _Castle thought to himself, _it would be so easy to make a different choice and avoid the pain that's sure to come._ But even as he allowed the thought to blow through his mind, he knew that he could never let it settle and take root. He took the single sheet of paper and placed it back in the safe, and checked his watch.

8:00—plenty of time to take care of one more item of business before making his first visit of the evening. Castle grabbed the envelope, and with purposeful, measured steps, made his way across his living room and through the double doors that led to his office. He pulled them closed carefully, so as not to disturb his mother or Alexis, both of whom were occupied with other tasks at the time; it was best, he decided, that they know as little about this affair as possible. Castle sighed deeply, leaned over, and pressed the power button on the paper shredder. _It's now or never_, he thought, as he reached over to the mailing envelope and pulled out the large file within. His hands trembled as he pulled the first page from the file. A tremor of doubt plowed into his mind, catching his breath in his throat and stopping his body cold: Could he really do this_? _

Castle heard the voice of doubt in his head (he always imagined it to sound like his own voice after taking a hit from a helium balloon): _You've taken precautions, sure, but this—this is final. Do this, Castle, and there's no going back. Do this, and she will never trust you again. Do this, and you WILL lose her. Forever._

It was neither the first time he had heard the voice, nor the first time he had considered its arguments. But he had chosen his course, and tonight, Richard Castle would follow it through to its inevitable conclusion, whatever that might be. He set his jaw, and willed his hand to bear its cargo to the shredder, wincing at the sound as the latter did its work. _The first one's always the hardest, _he thought, _the next will be easier._ And he was right.

His work finished after what seemed like hours, Castle tucked the bag of shredded paper into a safe place. He grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out the door, considering the consequences of the actions he had just taken, and trying desperately to think of what he was going to say to the person he was about to visit.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Responsibility

_Here goes, _Castle thought, as he inhaled and exhaled three times in rapid succession, then opened the door of his Ferrari.

The wind and rain hit him with torrential fury, driving the car door backward against him and forcing him back inside the car. _Story of my life, _Castle thought, and with new resolve, thrust all of his strength against the storm. This time, he prevailed.

Quickly, Castle splashed his way through the deluge to the small, single family brownstone that lay just across the neighborhood street on which he was parked. Waves of sharp rain pummeled him like liquid daggers, soaking through his coat and shirt, and stinging the skin beneath. By the time he arrived on the doorstep, there wasn't a dry stitch of clothing to be found anywhere on his person, and his body felt as though it had fallen prey to a swarm of bees whose nest had just been looted.

_Rap, rap, rap. _Castle knocked three times on the faded green door, and collected himself under the covering of the small stoop as he waited for a response. He allowed himself some space to take in the significance of this moment. Here he was: a nervous man on the stoop of Kate Beckett's childhood home, waiting to talk to her father. In a different world, under different circumstances, this might mark the observance of a romantic, time-honored tradition; it might be an occasion for celebration, the first step in a blissful journey of lifelong happiness for Richard Castle and the woman he loved.

But not this night. No, this was a night reserved for sacrifice, and turmoil, and...heartbreak. It was the only way-of that he was sure; but much like the stoop covering under which he awaited the arrival of Jim Beckett, that assurance offered little shelter, and even less comfort. For a moment, he gave in and let the heartache have its place. The tears came quickly, camouflaged by the streaks of rain still flowing down his cheeks. And then, as quickly as they came, Castle locked them securely back inside. He could almost hear them screaming, banging against the stalwart palings of his soul, crying out for release, for freedom-but he had long since fortified the prison in which those tears were incarcerated, and he alone set the times for their release.

He was certain that there would be more time for them in the days to come.

Castle cleared his throat, and raised his trembling fist to the door again. _Rap, rap, rap_. This time, he heard Jim Beckett's gravelly, placid voice echoing through the house.

"Coming! I'm coming!"

Castle took a deep breath, then turned to face the door. _Don't you dare be a coward,_ he thought to himself, _everything depends on it._

He heard the sound of metal on metal, and surmised that Mr. Beckett was releasing the chain lock from its holster. A few clicks later, and he was standing face-to-face with the man he'd come all this way to see.

"Rick?" Jim said, a hint of surprise teasing the edges of his tone.

"Hello, Mr. Beckett," Castle said, anxiously.

"Well, for God's sake-don't stand out here in the storm. Come on inside," said Jim, in his most authentic fatherly demeanor. He stepped aside as Castle hastily crossed the threshold, then quickly fastened the door shut again.

"Thank you, Mr. Beckett," said Castle, wiping his face with his hands.

"Please, call me Jim."

Castle paused. Truth be told, he was a little uncomfortable calling Kate's father "Jim," though he wasn't sure why. He cleared his throat again, and squeaked "O-ok. Uh, well...how are you these days, Jim?"

Jim Beckett chuckled-a warm, jovial sound, Castle noted-and said, "Well, my knees have been giving me a little trouble lately. But at my age, simply having 'days'-plural-is a blessing, so I can't really complain." He winked as he finished, and gestured to a nearby chair. "Please-have a seat. Are you thirsty? Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, no," Castle said, "I can't stay long. Listen, I just came by to tell you-"

"How's my Katie?" Jim asked, a look of concern flashing across his face. It was there and gone in a second, and Castle could tell that he had spent years perfecting the art of masking anxiety. _Probably for Kate's benefit_, he thought. Maybe it was just one of the perks of fatherhood; after all, he'd been practicing his own brand of disguise with Alexis, who was far too keen to be fooled by the likes of him.

He suspected the same of Kate Beckett.

Castle's eyes roamed the inside of his sockets as he searched for an answer. "She's...ok," Castle muttered, with no small degree of hesitation. _Should have practiced more_, he thought as his eyes found center again, and focused squarely on Jim Beckett's now careworn face. All pretense was gone, all games at an end.

Jim Beckett was afraid for his daughter.

"Hmm. Just okay. Well, I suppose that'll have to do for now," he said, in a desperate attempt to convince himself. "She hasn't really come around much since, well-since she went back to work."

Castle nodded, knowingly. He already knew that Beckett's choice had more to do with protecting her father than from a lack of desire to see him. Still, it couldn't be pleasant for Mr. Beckett.

"Look, Mr. Beckett-Jim-we both know what she's been through, what she's suffered, how hard it's been for her to...let go. We both know how blind she can be when it comes to her mother's case, and though she's trying to move on, I know it's just a matter of time before she starts spiraling again. I had a ringside seat for the last show, and I know how it ends; and if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be there for the encore." Castle surprised himself at the firmness and conviction with which he spoke, especially since his knees felt like pudding at the moment.

Jim nodded sadly, and whispered, "I know, Rick. You've been good to Katie. You've been good for her, too, you know," he said, his moist eyes now firmly locked on Castle's. "As I told you before, she cares about you. I can count the number of people Katie trusts on one hand, and I don't even need all five fingers to do it. I don't think she can afford to lose you, Rick. Not now."

Castle swallowed the lump that had begun it's slow ascent into his throat and croaked, "I'm afraid that's why I'm here, Jim."

Jim tilted his head slightly, confusion replacing concern as the expression _du jour._

Castle continued, "Last spring, you visited me and asked me to help Kate, to stop her from throwing her life away. I tried everything I could think of, but the more I tried, the harder she pushed. In the end, I decided that the best course of action would be to stand with her, to help her put this thing to rest. I was prepared to go all the way, Jim-whatever the cost."

"Rick-"

"But then, she was shot. And after three months of therapy, recovery, bed rest, and..."-Castle paused here, looking for just the right word-"...isolation, I really thought she'd walk away for good. I should have known better. Now I do. Kate will never stop-not ever-until her mother's killer is caught and brought to justice. It's a suicide mission, Jim."

"I know," Jim sighed, his eyes shifting downward to the floor, "God help me, I know."

"I have a plan, Jim. It's a long shot, and it's probably destined for failure, but it might be the only chance we have to save her life. But I'll need your help." Castle said, matter-of-factly.

"I'm listening," Jim said, a small hint of hope easing back into his voice, "what's the plan? What do I need to do?"

"I can't tell you the details of what I'm going to do. You're just gonna have to trust me. I know that's asking a lot from someone you barely know, but it's for her own good-and yours." Castle was resolute now, his tone showing no trace of the doubt that nearly paralyzed him earlier. Telling Jim Beckett about the contents of the envelope (and what he'd done to them) would only put him in danger and compromise his role in the mission at hand.

"Not my first choice, but whatever you say."

"You need to be there for her. She'll need you more than she's ever needed you in her whole life, and she's not going to have anyone else to whom she can turn. You're the safety net, Jim, and please believe me when I tell you that she's going to fall and fall hard. You have to catch her and hold her as tightly as you can for as long as you can, until she can...move on." Castle said, a heaviness rising in his chest.

"That's all?" Jim said, puzzled. "And what about you, Rick?"

"If my plan works, Jim, I won't be a factor in the equation." Castle's sadness was evident now, even in his speech. He turned and looked out the window. The rain had subsided, and there was an eerie stillness, almost tangible, in the atmosphere. A less well-read person might be duped into believing that the squall had ended, and that those who remained had been brought safely through its fury. But Castle knew better.

This was only the eye-the calm-before the real storm was to begin.

Castle closed his eyes briefly, then turned to face Jim Beckett. He opened them to find the aged gentleman squaring off against him, hands balled into fists, mouth twisted into a look of revulsion and disgust. "You'd-leave her? At a time like this?" His eyes flashed at Castle as he waited for an answer to his question.

Castle sighed deeply. "No, Jim. I would _never_ leave her. But if my plan works, I'll lose her all the same."


End file.
